But It Pours
by PlushChrome
Summary: The Monkees had a friendship that lasted through it all; kidnappers, mad scientists, the mob, angry peanut-gallery children... but when a strange being goes back in time and makes it so the four friends never met, how can Mike Nesmith win her game and make things right again? Rated T to be safe. Part of a series, but can be read on it's own.
1. Prologue

_Author's Notes: This story is a part of a series of sorts, including some of my stories and some stories belonging to Crystal Rose of Pollux. You don't have to read every story in the series to understand this, but if you want it to truly make sense, I highly recommend reading at least the first chapter of Crystal Rose of Pollux's Lone Star and Union Jack, the first chapter of my The California Dreamer and the Connecticut Yankee, Crystal's short story Nesmith and Jones, and my story The Peaceable Four. Again, you don't have to read those stories for this to make sense, but it would definitely help._

_The timeline of this story takes place after the events of The Peaceable Four, which is around a year after the show ended, and, according to our series, six years after Peter and Micky met, five and a half years after Mike and Davy met, and four years after Peter and Micky met Mike and Davy and they became the Monkees. This is a rather long first chapter, but I had a lot of information to fit in here, and I did the best I could. This story will take place mostly from Mike's point of view, this first chapter is the only one I'm planning to do from the others points of view. I will not be able to post very often, but I'll post as often as I can. Thanks for giving this story a shot, I hope you enjoy it! And please, read Crystal's stories, they're amazing, and they're what got me into this rapidly-growing series to begin with. :)_

* * *

T'was an ordinary day in Malibu, California, and four ordinary boys walked along the ordinary sidewalk, having an ordinary conversation. Well, for them anyway.

"Hey, Pete, what's big, green and ugly, and runs on eight wheels?" Micky asked excitedly, running in front of the other Monkees and beginning to walk backwards as Peter bit his bottom lip and looked up, thinking.

"I don't know, Mick," He said finally. "What?"

"Man, you don't know either?" Micky exclaimed, looking crestfallen. "I've been trying to figure it out all day..."

"You mean this isn't a joke?" Mike asked, looking at Micky incredulously.

"No, man, I really wanna know," Micky said.

"Ooh, ask Mike, he's good at riddles," Davy suggested, elbowing the tall Texan next to him.

"Okay," Micky said, excited once more. "Mike, what's big, green, and-"

"Calm down, Mick, I heard you the first time," Mike said, although he chuckled at his friend's energy. "Hmm, let me think..."

The other three all backed up to give him some space as he stopped walking and folded his arms. Looking up at the sky, he muttered to himself as he tried to figure it out.

"Now, what's big and green and ugly, and runs on eight wheels... let's see, it's green, it runs on eight wheels, and it's big and ugly... what's ugly, and green and runs on eight wheels, and is big? Now then, if it's big and green, it could be... well, no... hmm, if it's ugly and runs on eight wheels... No, I can't think of anything, Mick, I- Mick?"

Looking down to notice his friends weren't in front of him, he put one hand up to his face. "Oh, sweet mercy, they're gone," he deadpanned.

"It's okay, Mike, here we are," Peter said with a grin, and Mike turned around.

"Oh, thank heavens, they're here," Mike said.

"Yes, they are," Said a new voice, and Mike turned back around to see a girl standing in front of them, smiling at them creepily.

The Monkees all went silent, having enough experience in such matters to realize there was something wrong about this girl. Maybe it was the way she had appeared out of nowhere. Maybe it was the way she was smiling at them. Or maybe it was because she was a pale shade of blue.

One thing they all knew most certainly, however, was that the very sight of her made them tense up, and they all found themselves scowling for no good reason they could think of.

"Wh-who are- AHEM!" Micky cleared his throat after having squeaked during the beginning of his sentence. "Who are you?" He said in his deep voice.

The girl turned her creepy smile towards Micky. "Me?" She asked. "I am Treirathar, the Beautiful and Feared."

"Oh, well, I am Mike the tall and Fearless," Mike said. "This is Micky, the Crazed and Fearing." He waved his hand indicating Micky, who snarled and then chuckled nervously.

"That's Peter the Friendly and Fearful," Mike continued, pointing at Peter, who stuck his hand out and said "How do you do?" With a smile, pulling his hand back slowly when the girl just looked at him.

"And that's Davy, the Short and... and fearlessly... fearfully... fearingly... feared." Mike finished, and Davy smiled up at the girl.

"Hello," He said with a wave.

"Now that we're introduced," Mike said. "What do you want?"

"A game," The girl said. "It's been so long since I had a good game."

"Oh, that's good," Peter said. "I like games. How do we play?"

"Peter!" The others all said, rolling their eyes.

"What?" The blonde asked, baffled.

The girl smiled. "It's all very simple," she said. "All you have to do to join is sleep. Sleep, my friends. And the game will begin."

Mike tried to tell her that he wasn't sleepy and that they weren't interested in playing, but suddenly, he yawned. "No," He said. "No, we don't..."

He blinked a few times, realizing that behind him, the others were yawning too. He turned around. "Stay awake," He ordered. "Don't fall asleep!"

"Just five minutes," Micky muttered, before falling to the ground, asleep.

"Micky?" Davy asked with a frown, looking down at the drummer in confusion. "Wha..." He trailed off as he yawned, slowly sinking to the floor besides Micky.

"Peter," Mike exclaimed, looking at the bassist, who frowned.

"Mike?" He asked. "What's wrong?"

"Stay awake, pal, you gotta stay awake," Mike said. He didn't know why, but he knew that this game was going to be very bad news.

"Okay," Peter said. "Okay, I'll stay... awake..." He closed his eyes and fell to the floor.

Mike turned back around to the girl, who was still smiling at him creepily. "Wake them up," he demanded. "Stop this. I'm not playing, wake them up now!"

"Oh, it's too late," She said. "Go to sleep, Michael, I'll explain the rules to you in due time. But not soon. No, earlier. Far earlier. Now, sleep."

Mike couldn't help it, he closed his eyes, and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

* * *

**1961, Kent, Connecticut~**

Peter sighed as he walked along Elizabeth Street, hands in his pockets, feeling just a bit down for some un-explained reason. It was dusk, the crickets were beginning to sound, and the first few bright stars were just showing above the pale moon.

It made Peter feel sad, and just a bit poetic. There were a few dark clouds off in the distance, it would probably rain during the night. Peter liked when it rained. Or, to be more accurate, Peter liked the way the world looked after it was done raining. The grass would look greener after the rain, the flowers would be soaked, and the river that ran past the outskirts of town would be just a bit bigger, it would rush just a bit faster, as if it had gotten a drink of water and had found new strength.

And the world smelled so fresh after a rainfall; so clean, if you took a deep breath, it was like you took a long drink of cool water after you worked hard in the sun.

Peter chuckled as he walked along. He hardly ever got all philosophical like this. There was just something about the air tonight, something in the dusk, a certain... almost magical quality drifting in the air, looking for some place to rest.

It stirred Peter, making him feel like he wanted to do something, be something, make some sort of a difference. He sighed again. He supposed he could never really make much of a difference, he wasn't very smart, or brave, or really good at anything, except music. And living in such a small town as Kent made it all the harder to make a difference.

No, here in Kent, the future was pretty straightforward. Peter would finish high-school, then he'd go to college, probably in nearby Waterbury, with his friends. Then, when he graduated, he'd get a job in one of the businesses downtown, maybe he'd get an apartment or a house of his own. One day, he might open a music store, or he would teach band at the high-school, and maybe even further in the future, he'd meet someone nice who he would spend the rest of his life with, and they would marry, and have kids of their own.

But tonight, tonight he felt like he wanted more. He wanted... what did he want? He wasn't sure. He just... didn't feel like this was all there was to life.

As he turned the corner, Peter saw a man sitting against a low brick wall that ran next to the sidewalk. At first glance, the man could be written off as a bum; he was wearing dirty old clothes, he didn't have any shoes, and his hair, which was longer than even Peter wore his, was matted and dirty. A hat was on the sidewalk next to him, a dirty old hat, upside down with a few pennies tossed inside.

Peter was about to cross the street and continue on his way when he stopped and looked at the man. His eyes were closed and he was smiling, and he was humming softly to himself, a sad little tune that Peter hadn't heard before. It must have been the magic of the night, with the early stars still shining in Peter's head, because as the blonde looked at the beatnik, he felt that same something stir inside him that he'd felt earlier. This man obviously didn't have a home, he looked like he didn't have pretty much anything. Why was he so happy?

Peter felt a strange impulse to go ask the man what he had that made him so at peace. He took a step towards the man, opened his mouth to call out to him-

"Excuse me," said a voice. Peter turned, there was a girl standing there, smiling up at him prettily.

"Yes?" Peter asked. "Can I help you?"

"Actually, you can," The girl said, her smile becoming even more pronounced. "My name is Yvette, and I think I made a wrong turn. I'm staying with my uncle for a few days, you see, and I went for a walk, and I got lost. Can you help me find my way back to Kent Green Blvd?"

"Kent Green Blvd?!" Peter said. "Sure, I can take you there, it's a ten minute walk." He paused. "I guess we'd better hurry, it's getting pretty dark, and it can get a bit chilly when the sun goes down."

"Oh, I don't mind," Yvette said. "Besides, I'll feel much better having someone with me. Are you sure it won't be too much trouble?"

"Oh, it's no trouble at all," Peter said. "Like I said, Kent Green Blvd is only a ten minute walk from here. I don't mind the walk."

"Thank you, Peter," Yvette said. "I would hate to be a bother. But everyone's been so nice to me since I got here. Do you like living here in Kent?"

Peter nodded as they started walking down the street. "Yes," he said. "I do."

"Really?" Yvette said, looking up at him. "You sound unconvinced."

"I do?" Peter said. "Huh. I guess... I'm just a little tired of the same old scene, you know? I kinda want to get out there, see the world. I want to go to places I've never been, meet people I've never met, do things I've never done... you know?"

"Yes, I suppose so," Yvette said. "But if you think about it, what's more important: adventure, or peace?"

Peter tilted his head. "Peace, I suppose," he said. "But who's to say you can't have a little of both? Adventure doesn't nullify peace."

"No, but it rifts it," Yvette said. "True, you can have excitement in your life and still maintain a certain level of peace, but only through tranquility; only through quiet, and rest, and a life of contemplation, can you have true peace."

"Huh," Peter said, frowning. "I never thought of it like that."

"Adventure can be a very dangerous thing," Yvette went on. "Stray too far from your front gate, and you might never find your way back."

"You're probably right," Peter said with a sigh. "I'm getting older now, I'll be eighteen next year. I suppose I should start working towards my future, figuring out what I want to do with my life."

"That's a very smart decision," Yvette said. "Oh! I recognize this store! Thank you, sir, I think I can find the rest of the way on my own."

"Oh, it was no trouble," Peter said with a small smile.

"No, really," Yvette said, smiling back up at him. "As small of a town as this is, I'm not sure I would have been able to find my way, especially now that it's dark."

Peter looked around. It was pretty dark. That was strange, it shouldn't have taken him that long to walk as far as he had.

Yvette drew his attention back to her. "I must give you something for your troubles," she said.

Peter shook his head. "Oh, you don't have to do that," he said.

"No, I insist," Yvette said. "Here, I have just the thing!"

Reaching into her pocket, Yvette pulled out a small piece of paper and handed it to Peter. "It's nothing special," she said. "Just a sketch."

Peter looked at it, it was very well drawn for "just a sketch," it was a drawing of a pretty little white gate, with flowers climbing up the sides and a small child, no more than four or five years of age, peeping out from behind the gate. She was smiling, she seemed to look up at Peter with a cheeky grin, as if she were laughing at a secret she wished she could tell him.

"Thank you," Peter said. "This was drawn very well."

"Thanks," Yvette said. "Now, I've got to run. Goodbye, Peter!" With that, she turned and ran down the street. Peter smiled for a while, before he felt a sudden raindrop splash on his arm. Looking up, he saw that the clouds he had noticed earlier had made it to the town, and the moon and the stars were blocked from view as it began to rain in earnest.  
Tucking the sketch into his pocket for safe keeping, Peter turned and hurried down the street to get to his house, before his mother started worrying.

As it rained, all of his former worries and fears about the future washed away, and by the time he reached his house, he had practically forgotten that he'd ever had any doubts about the future at all. Here in Kent, the future was pretty straightforward, after all. What was there to be afraid of

* * *

**1962, Ventura, California~**

Micky was running. He wasn't going anywhere in particular, he wasn't really running away from anything, he was just running. The wind in his face made him happy, and so he ran.

Turning a corner, he saw a girl standing there, and he lurched to one side to avoid running into her. With a slight gasp, as if she were surprised, the girl dodged him, and Micky skidded to a stop.

"Whoa," He said. "That was close! I'm sorry, I almost didn't see you."

The girl smiled. "That's alright," she said. "I got out of the way just in time."

"Good thing, too," Micky said, looking at the girl, who was much shorter than him. "I would have bowled you over!"

The girl laughed lightly. "Well, I guess I must be pretty lucky then," she said. "Imagine what would have happened if the sun were out! You'd have been blinded!" She smiled, then held out her hand. "My name's Vienna," She said.

"Vienna?" Micky asked as they shook hands. "You mean, like, the city?"

Vienna nodded. "Yes," she said. "My parents honeymooned there. I've always wanted to go there someday."

"Well, I hope you make it!" Micky said with a smile.

Vienna smiled back. "And what about you?" She asked. "If you could go anywhere in the world, where would it be?"

"Me?" Micky asked. "I would go to the land where stars are made! I would pack my bags and run straight to Los Angeles, and I would become a star!"

"Wow, that sounds exciting," Vienna agreed. "What kind of star are you talking? Do you want to be a movie star?"

"I think I'd definitely get into acting," Micky said. "But really, I want to make people laugh. If the movie was funny enough, I'd do it, I want to be a comedian."

"Yes, it certainly fits you," Vienna said. "You'll do well in the spotlight."

"Thanks," Micky said with a smile. "And you'll do pretty well in... that city..."

Vienna laughed. "Well," she said. "Just remember, There's billions of stars up there, in the sky. If you want to catch anyone's attention, you just have to shine brighter than everyone else. Let the other stars get too close, and you'll look dimmer by comparison."

Micky smiled. "I'll shine as bright as I can," he said. "Thanks, Vienna."

Vienna smiled back. "No problem, Micky," she said. "Hey, I want to give you something!"

Micky blinked. "Give me something!?" He asked. "What for!? I just met you!"

"Yeah," Vienna said. "But you never know how important it could be when you run into someone new." She gave a slight chuckle then, and Micky wondered what she found so funny. But then she reached into her pocket and pulled out a piece of paper.

"It's a sketch I drew once," she said. "Consider it a good-luck charm, then, if you ever make it big, just think of me. And if I'm ever in Vienna, I'll think of you. Deal?"

"Deal," Micky said with a smile. He looked down at the paper. "Wow, this is really good!" He said. The drawing was of a little girl, about five years old or so, and she was sitting on a fallen log, looking up at a night sky. There was a pale crescent moon above her, and one star in particular was much bigger and brighter than all the others. The little girl was smiling up at the star, a gleam in her eyes suggesting she knew something special, something secret about the star, which was so beautifully drawn Micky could almost see it twinkle.

"Thanks," Vienna said.

Micky studied the drawing a bit more, then something seemed to click in his head. He looked up at Vienna. "I never told you my name," He said.

Vienna frowned in confusion. "...What?" She asked.

"You called me Micky," Micky said. "I don't think I told you my name was Micky."

Vienna laughed. "Yes you did," she said, blinking her eyes. "Remember?"

Micky blinked. Yes... yes, he remembered now. She'd said her name was Vienna, she'd held out her hand, and... He could remember clearly now, he'd told her his name was Micky Dolenz, as he shook her hand. He could practically hear himself say it now.

"...Oh yeah," he said. "I remember now." He laughed. "Just goes to show how crazy I am," he said. "Well, thanks for the picture, Vienna."

"You're welcome," Vienna said with a smile. Then she looked up at the sky. "Oh," she said. "It's starting to rain."

Micky also looked up, just in time to get a drop of rain on his face. And he was blocks away from the hotel, too.

"In that case, I'd better be going," he said. "It was nice meeting you, Vienna."

"It was nice meeting you too, Micky Dolenz," Vienna said with a smile. "Goodbye."

As she turned to walk away, Micky also turned and began running towards the hotel. As he ran, it began raining in earnest, and as the rain ran down his face and soaked his hair, he felt a strange feeling come over him, he felt all his cares wash away, until he was smiling in the rain.

He was going to make it one day, he was sure of it. In fact, he wasn't going to back down for anything. He wasn't going to let anyone stand in his way. If going it alone was what it took to be a star, if he truly couldn't afford to have any obligations tying him down, then he would be sure to keep shining, keep being the brightest star in the room. If everybody else fell by the wayside, so be it.

* * *

**1963, Malibu, California~**

Davy stepped off the bus in Malibu, stifling a yawn as he went around to collect all his baggage. He had been begging his grandfather for months, and now, was finally free, in Sunny California!

The plane ride had been long and tiring, and then the bus from the airport to the Malibu bus depot had been jarring and rough, but it was worth it! He was finally on his own, with no one to tell him what to do!

Of course, he was still only fourteen, and his grandfather had set him up to attend a good boarding school, and live in the dormitories along with the other students.

But Davy had other plans. He'd go to school all right; he wasn't planning on dropping out, giving up his education. But there was no way he was going to live in those dorms. They had rules there, and curfews, and superintendents. He didn't want any of that stuff. He was fed up with rules. He wanted to do what he wanted to do when he wanted to do it.

He got his baggage and looked around the bus depot, trying to decide what he wanted to do first. On the trip over, he'd thought a lot about what he would do first. He could go to a diner and order whatever he wanted, he could go sightseeing and do whatever he wanted, he could just walk around town until he saw something that looked interesting, and just go for it... but now that he was here, he found that all he wanted to do was sleep.

To the hotel it was, then. His grandfather had already paid for his dorm room in full, but Davy had gone behind his back and arranged for a reimbursement, which he planned to collect in the morning. He would find more permanent housing over the next week; for now, he had enough money for the night in a nice hotel.

He spotted an information booth against one wall, and began struggling with his heavy bags as he started making his way towards the booth. He would ask about a good hotel, and then would order a taxi to take him there.

Suddenly, a young girl bumped into him with an empty baggage cart, making him drop his suitcases.

"Oh, I'm dreadfully sorry!" The young girl said, letting go of the cart and rushing to help pick up his suitcases. "I was just returning this cart and wasn't watching where I was going... are you alright, did I hurt you?"

Davy smiled, the girl looked a little older than him, but not by much, and she was very pretty. "No, miss," He said. "You didn't hurt me."

The girl smiled back. "That's a strange accent," she said. "Where are you from?"

"I'm from Manchester," Davy said. "England."

"Wow, that's exciting," The girl said. "Oh, hey, I'm not using this cart anymore, would you like it? You've got quite a lot of baggage there..."

Davy blinked, coming to himself. "Sure," He said. "Thank you, this really helps me out."

"Oh, no problem," The girl said. "Here, let me help you load it. I'm Bree, by the way."

"Nice to meet you, Bree, I'm David," Davy said as she put the suitcase she had picked up onto the cart and Davy began loading the rest of the baggage onto it.

"So Davy," said Bree. "What brings you here all the way from Manchester, England?"

"Oh, you know," Davy said. "I got tired of living under my grandfather's rules, I wanted to make my own path."

"You wanna be free?" Bree said, the corner of her mouth turning up slightly.

Davy nodded. "My grandfather's set me up in a posh Boarding school, but I'm going to go to a hotel instead, until I can find an apartment or something."

"Wow, you've got this all figured out, huh?" Bree said. "But what about you being underage?"

"Huh?" Davy asked. Was there a snag in his plans he hadn't thought out?

"You know," Bree said. "Hotels don't rent rooms to minors. How old are you? Fifteen?"

"Fourteen," Davy corrected absently.

"Ooh, yeah, they're not going to rent you a room," Bree said, biting her lip. "Maybe you could... nah, that won't work..."

"What?" Davy asked.

"Well, I was thinking maybe you could find an apartment tonight, but with all the trouble that goes with finding a house, you'd probably end up sleeping behind a dumpster or something."

"Well, I don't want that," Davy said hurriedly. "What do you think I should do?"

"I don't know..." Bree said. "...Maybe you should just stay in your dorms, like your grandfather wanted you to... Just until you find something better," She amended upon seeing Davy's horrified expression.

Davy sighed. "Yeah," He said. "I suppose you're right. I just... I didn't want to live under someone else's rules, you know?"

"Yeah, I do," Bree said. "But you'll be free someday! Maybe you should just take smaller steps, you know? Like my mom always says; Long is the road to freedom. Enjoy what you have, while you have it. You need not make the journey in a day."

"That sounds like a fortune cookie," Davy said with a smile.

Bree laughed. "Yeah," She said. "It does, doesn't it? It's kinda true, though. If you take small steps, you'll reach your goal one day. You don't have to try to grow up right away. I mean, you just moved to America, you've got an entire ocean between where you are now and where you were yesterday. Maybe that's enough freedom for now."

Davy thought on this. "You're right," he said. "Thanks, Bree, I think I'll do that."

"Oh, hey, I want to give you something," Bree said, reaching into her pocket. "I don't know about you, but... I feel like this was important, you know? Like, us meeting here was meant to happen."

She pulled her hand out of her pocket, and held a piece of paper out to Davy.

"It's a drawing I made on the flight," she said as he took it.

"Thanks," He said, examining the picture. "This is really well drawn, you know."

The picture was of a winding road, very long, as it wound through the fields and trees and disappeared into the rolling hills, lit up in a sunset. Sitting under a tree near the front of the picture was a young girl, four, maybe five years old, resting in the shade and looking up at Davy with a smile, as if she was hiding something and wanted him to guess what it was.

"This looks like you," Davy said, looking back up at Bree. "The little girl, she looks like she could be your sister or something."

"Does she?" Bree asked. "That's funny. Maybe I subconsciously made her me or something. No, the idea just came to me on the plane, it's not anybody I know."

"Huh..." Davy said.

"Well, I've got to run," Bree said with a sigh. "I've stayed too long already. Bye, Davy, I hope you have fun at boarding school!"

"I hope so too," Davy said, smiling as Bree ran off. Then he pocketed his new drawing and began to push his cart out of the depot, hailing a taxi when he got outside. It was raining, he noted. Which was strange, because he was sure it had been sunny when the bus pulled in. Yes, because he remembered thinking that the name Sunny California fit the place well.

Oh well. In England, the weather turned with a snap of your fingers sometimes. It made sense that there might be a short rainshower here in California.

As he waited for the taxi, slowly beginning to get wet, he began to feel a strange excitement build up in him. He was actually looking forward to the school year! Bree was right, he had plenty of time to grow up. He didn't have to have his own apartment, he had already taken a huge step toward freedom in moving here in the first place. He could enjoy being dependant for a few more years, and then he could go out into the world, and be free.

* * *

**1963, New Gallifrey, Texas~**

Mike was intrigued and happy, all at the same time, as he reached into the hidden footlocker he had found while treasure-hunting, and pulled out a shiny key with a rounded head.

Next to him, his best friend, Adam Cartwheel, had also pulled something out of the box, a strange pocket-watch with weird symbols on the front.

"Look…" Adam said, holding out a pocket watch with odd markings on it. "It must be some sort of a code to the treasure. What do you have?"

Mike opened his hand, revealing the key inside it.

"A key!" Adam exclaimed.

"I bet it unlocks the box," Mike said, quietly. He smiled. "Tell you what. You've the directions, and I've got the key. Let's make a deal: I'll head on out to California with the key, and you hold onto the watch and figure that code thing out. Once you figure it out and find the box, I'll come back with the key and unlock it. Because, let me tell you… That's what I want to do. Unlock that box with my best buddy right there to share whatever's in it."

"You've got yourself a deal," Adam said. "Now let's get outta here and tell everyone what we found—"

"Don't bother," a third voice said. "Just hand over the watch and the key."

Mike's shoulders went rigid; he recognized the voice as one of the Riley gang; a group of brothers and cousins whose family owned a lot of land in and around New Gallifrey, leading them to think that they had the run of the town and could do whatever they wanted.

"What do we do?" Adam asked, clenching the pocket watch in his fist.

"We split," Mike announced, and he pushed past the burly bully, fleeing back down the tunnel. As he ran, he slipped the key he had found into the band of the wool hat he had also found in the box. Hopefully, no one would think to look for it there…

He had almost reached the rope when, all of a sudden, Adam sprinted ahead of him, grabbing for the rope first. Mike looked behind him, seeing the Riley gang member catching up to them very rapidly, assuming that to be the reason for Adam's desperate attempt to get out of the well as quickly as he could.

But when Mike turned back, he could only stare, stunned. Adam was hanging onto the rope, but something was pulling him up and out of the well.

"What…?" Mike asked, stunned to see more members of the Riley gang around the outside of the well, rapidly pulling on the rope. It was then that the horrible truth began to sink in. "Adam, you…"

"Sorry, Mikey," Adam said, not sounding apologetic at all. "They made me an offer I couldn't refuse. They already run the town, and, let's face it, even if you'd have found the treasure chest, they'd have just swooped in and claimed whatever was in it."

"But we had an agreement…!" Mike said, feebly.

"I made the deal with them first."

"But, you and I were… We've always been…"

"Times change, Kiddo," Adam said. "You honestly think everyone's going to stick around forever? Stick around _you _forever—a wannabe musician? How many friends—besides me—have you managed to hold on to?" He shrugged. "Maybe it's a good thing that you're leaving town soon. Maybe people will learn to appreciate you after you've left. Or maybe they won't care at all."

The brute behind Mike now picked him up.

"Hand over the key," he snarled, after going through Mike's pockets and not being able to find it.

"I… I don't have it," Mike lied. "I dropped it while I was running. It's somewhere in the tunnel, lost…"

"Forget him for now," Adam said, in dismissal. "We'll let him spend the night down there; maybe that'll convince him to hand over the key in the morning when we pull him out of there."

He lowered the rope slightly. Mike made a grab for it, but the creep with him knocked Mike to the ground and grabbed the rope himself, upon which Adam and the others quickly hoisted him up.

"Adam!" Mike cried. "Adam, please! Don't leave me down here!"

"The key, Mike. Give me the key, and I'll get you out of there right now."

Mike opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

"No?" Adam concluded from his silence. "Then I guess you'll be spending the night there. For your sake, I hope there aren't any rattlers… I'd hate to have something happen to you before you tell us where the key is."

Adam's words stung more than a snakebite ever could. It only drove home how little their friendship had meant to Adam, and that the whole day today—perhaps even longer, such as months or even years—had all been an act on his part.

"See you in the morning, Mike," Adam sneered. "I hope…"

One by one, the faces disappeared from the well wall, their jeers and laughter retreating. Mike cried out for help until his throat gave up, whereupon he sunk to his knees, staring up at the small bit of darkening sky he could see.

"No one's coming," a voice said, and Mike wheeled around in shock, seeing a young girl standing a few feet away from him.

"Wha-!" Mike exclaimed. "Wh-who are you!?"

The girl smiled. "We've already been through this," She said. "Well, I have. It's a problem people have when they travel through time. Of course, you don't know that yet. And of course, if you lose my game, you probably never will."

"What are you talking about?" Mike asked. "And how did you get down here? Is there a way out?"

"No, there's no way out, and no one's coming," the girl said. "You see, this is my game."

"...What?" Mike said, suddenly realizing that there was something about the girl that made his teeth on edge.

The girl smiled. "Since you don't remember, allow me to introduce myself," she said. "My name is Treirathar, the Beautiful and Feared, and I play games."

Mike watched her warily, this was all he needed, on tonight of all nights. A crazy girl coming and messing with him.

Treirathar smiled again and continued talking. "Seven years from now," she said. "You lived another life. A life that made you happy, a life that you wouldn't have traded for the world. You had nothing from a worldly point of view, no money, no success, no fame, nothing.

"Gee, you're a ray o' sunshine, ain't'cha?" Mike said bitterly.

"But you had everything that marks one a true success," Treirathar continued. "You had your music, you had your hope for a better future, and you had three friends that you counted as more important than everything you desire right now."

"Yeah right," Mike snarled. "Friends? No way. I'm never trusting anyone ever again."

The girl smiled. "Yes, that's what you assume right now," she said. "But seven years from now, you had learned so much. And one of those friends, the closest of them, found a way to bend all rules of time, to come back to this night and lower a rope, allowing you the chance to escape from Adam to California, where you little by little, gained all those things I mentioned earlier."

Mike raised his eyebrow. "Yeah?" He said. "Well, that's all just fine and dandy. 'Cause you know what? There ain't no rope! Nobody's comin', you said so yourself. I'll be lucky if a rattler does come an bite me, 'cause that's nothin' compared to what'll happen if the Riley gang comes back in the mornin' and I'm still here."

"Ah, yes, no one's coming, there is no rope," the girl said. "That's part of the game. You see, I'm not from Earth."

Mike scoffed.

"I have powers beyond that of your wildest imagining," the girl continued. "I am the nuisance of the seven solar systems, and my game is that I bend time. There is so much potential energy surrounding you, Michael. You are teeming with it! It almost makes me giddy!"

Mike raised his eyebrows. This girl was insane. The seven solar systems? Bending time? Potential energy? This was nonsense.

"Oh, I could feed off of this for a lifetime..." the girl said, looking hungry all of a sudden, and Mike took an instinctive step back.

"But I won't," The girl said, smiling again, and shaking her head slightly. "What would be the fun in that? Alright, Michael, here are the rules."

"Rules?" Mike asked.

"Yes, rules!" The girl said. "Don't worry, Michael, you have a fair chance of winning. The game wouldn't be fun if I was assured my victory. Alright then, rules. The rules are simple, if you win, I give you a chance to save what might have been. I take you back to fix what I have successfully broken. If I win, you go on living in this reality, and I feast for eons!"

Mike took another step back. "What's your problem!?" He demanded.

The girl laughed. "I have no problem," she said. "No, it is you who have the problem. You see, you are going to be miserable for the next several years."

"Gee, thanks," Mike said dryly.

"But you won't be the only one," The girl said. "The three people who changed your life in the other reality, they are now imprisoned, I have chained them to what they hate the most. They are under my spell, and are enslaved."

"This is sounding better and better," Mike said. "So these three 'friends' who I supposedly would do anything for, are your slaves and can't help me."

"Yes," The girl said. "Keep your eyes open, one day, you will find these friends, and if you help them break their secret bonds, all three of them, then I will let you try and fix the timestream. That is the game."

"So I'm just supposed to be miserable for the next several years, and three random people I've never seen before will meet me one day, and I'm supposed to figure out their 'secret bonds,' or whatever, or I'll be miserable forever?"

"Correct," the girl said. "In order to make this game a bit more fair, I shall be taking this." She held up her hand, and Mike saw a glint of metal... the Key! She had the key!

"How'd you-" He started, lifting up the hat and looking in the band, where the key had been.

"You couldn't very well have this," she said. "Why, the game would be ruined! Imagine if the owner were to come looking for it... I shudder to think what he would do to restore the timestream. You would have the advantage. Not to mention, that silly group of children, if they had control of it and you. No, it's far better this way."

Mike just stood by, stunned. What was he going to do in the morning when Adam came back and there was no key?

"Now then," the girl said with a smile. "I must be going. Farewell, Mike. I'll be watching. Make this an interesting game, if you please. I always want to play with my food before I eat it."

Suddenly, she was gone, and Mike did a double take. She had just... disappeared?

He stood there for a little while, letting the darkness and the silence envelop him. He was alone. Alone, without any friend in the world, and hallucinating, apparently.

After awhile, he finally sat down against the dirt wall of the well, and put his head in his hands. It was hopeless. He was doomed to be miserable either way. Hallucination or not, other reality or not, weird game or not, he would be miserable. Adam would be back in the morning, Riley gang in tow, and even if Mike wanted to give up the key, he couldn't now.

Mike didn't even try to imagine what Adam would do. But at least he wouldn't find the key when he did come back. Small blessings. Mike let out a dark chuckle, suddenly realizing the irony of the situation. Adam had done all this to get Mike to give him the key to the treasure, only to discover that Mike no longer had it. He would be livid.

Mike laughed again as a few droplets of rain made their way down from the open entrance to the old well, a strange feeling of emptiness taking over. He had nothing to live for anymore... nothing to be afraid of. He would do whatever it took to keep Adam from winning, winning at anything. No matter the risk.


	2. Seven Years Bad Luck

Author's note: Sorry it took so long for an update. Real life has been busy, to say the least. Finally had some free time today, as well as some inspiration, so I got this chapter knocked out. It's a bit short, but I like it. Also, I threw a little surprise in there for Crystal Rose of Pollux, as a sort of thank-you for letting me use her Monkeeverse. Pretty much, I referenced another one of her stories as it might have turned out in this alternate reality Mike has found himself in.

**Warning:** This Michael Nesmith, in fact, all these Monkees are not the same Monkees you know and love from the show. For the sake of the story, they're all very much different, and Michael Nesmith is pretty dark, especially in this chapter. So, if you don't like Dark!Nesmith, this story is not for you.

* * *

_He waited, kneeling on one knee as he crouched behind the alley dumpster. The alley was completely dark; he'd taken out the only nearby street lamp two days before in preparation. Two days, the perfect cover. Long enough to have it reported as vandalism with no ties to him, but not enough time to get it replaced in the inner city, leaving the scene pitch black on the night of the new moon._

_His target would never see what hit him._

_Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked out warnings to the night, and Michael silently moved, ready to strike. Checking his watch with a soft red flashlight, he saw the time. 2:14. Right on schedule. He silently pulled out his pistol, his secret burden that no one knew about, and slowly stood up, balancing the gun on the edge of the dumpster, pointed east, in the middle of the entrance to the alleyway. Closing his eyes, he waited, listening._  
_A splash. That was the puddle one street down. Another twenty seconds... footsteps. Quick, evenly paced, heavy, but not too heavy. Slight scruff, the man didn't fully pick up his feet while walking._

_The steps got closer, and Michael could now hear heavy breathing. The man wasn't used to exercise, he never was. He was the driver. He pulled up in front of the buildings with just enough time to get everyone in the car before peeling away. He was the best of the best. Michael could see his leering face whenever he closed his eyes. Always taunting, always goading, always berating him._

_The footsteps came to the entrance of the alley, never stopping, never slowing. He always had been proud, too proud to realize just how human, how mortal he really was. Michael placed his finger on the trigger. A few more feet... a few more seconds..._

_Something hit the back of his head._

Michael woke up with a start.

"Up, Nesmith," Hank Tyler commanded gruffly, sneering down at Michael, having no idea that he had just been in one of the Texan's dreams. He had always been too proud...

Michael smirked back as he sat a little straighter against the train station wall he was leaning against. "Mornin', Hank," he said. "You never even saw me..."

"What's that supposed to mean, stupid?" Hank said flippantly, turning back to watching the crowd. "Just 'cause yer eyes're closed don't mean nobody else can see ya. You ain't three no more. Peekaboo don't work."

Michael didn't respond, instead he continued to watch their mark, thinking, as he did so, of the drastic change his life had made in the last seven years. He had never fully remembered what happened that night in the well, he only remembered the hallucination, no doubt brought on by the shock of the betrayal and the following fever gained from spending the night in a wet and rainy hole. When Adam had demanded the location of the key, Mike had truly been unable to give an answer. Luckily for him, Adam had always been good at spotting a lie, no doubt because of how good a liar he was himself. So he'd spared Mike's life. Unfortunately, since Mike was the only one who could have known of the key's location, Adam had decided to keep him around.

For the two weeks following the incident at the well, Mike only remembered bits and pieces. Mostly a few rare lucid moments while he recovered from the fever, in a small smoky hotel room somewhere. When he was finally back to himself, he was given a newspaper with a story on page eight, of the disappearance of one Michael Robert Nesmith, and how police suspected gang involvement, and the possibility of foul-play.

Adam had explained his situation, and had then told Mike exactly what he was to do. Until the key was found, Mike would be left alive. But that didn't give him any freedom. He was forced to join the Riley Gang, so Adam could keep an eye on him. It had been no secret over the years that Michael hated every member of his gang, and it had been no secret that they hated him right back. As they grew in size, their reputation grew as one of the nastiest gangs of treasure hunters in history. And as their reputation grew, so did Michael's. "Dead-Eye," he was called, firstly in regards to his skill with the gun, second because of the look in his eyes when facing an opponent, be it gang or police or hostage. He openly felt nothing in regards to anyone, excepting his enemies. Those unlucky enough to make that list were the only ones who saw a flash of emotion, usually the last eyes they saw right before he pulled the trigger.

Not many people dared to venture to Michael's bad side, it was common knowledge that he kept a ledger. The only people foolish enough to get on his bad side and stay there were the members of his own gang, because they knew that he couldn't touch them. Yet. Michael waited for the day when his patience would pay off and the names in his ledger crossed off one by one.

It was unhealthy, dangerous even, and somewhere in the back of his mind, Michael knew that, but the most dangerous and most infamous thing about Michael "Dead-Eye" Nesmith was that he simply didn't care.

He had every label in the book; reckless, volatile, dangerous, psychotic... but the truth was, he didn't care who was gunning for him because he didn't care whether or not he was gunned down. His gang, all of them flippant, called him the luckiest guy on earth due to the miraculous escapes he pulled off, even though he was by far the most hunted of the lot of them, his recklessness and open mouth putting him on a few lists of his own. But truth be told, he considered himself the exact opposite, because he hadn't been lucky enough to have the nightmare end.

Now, as he sat beside Hank and another member of the gang, Barney, Michael slowly took in the crowd around them. They had their own worries to deal with, and Michael had come a long way in his ability to judge the character of strangers. Most of the people here were late for one thing or another, several of them were preoccupied or absently traversing the crowd on their way to different trains. Some of them were families, happily on their way to vacations, and Michael watched one family, feeling an empty sense of something akin to longing. He had given up all hope of friends or family long ago, so it didn't ache as much anymore. But he still felt robbed at times. He ought to have been given the chance for a family, and it had been stolen from him by a close friend. The name at the top of his ledger was the name he would save for last, the name of the man who had killed him.

The family passed the ticket counter, and Mike narrowed his eyes. Their mark was still there, the ticket master. He was a member of the fast-risen Good Guys Gang, code named Agent Pink Rock, and he was their target. The Riley Gang, although a gang of treasure hunters, hadn't struck rich in quite awhile. Something that Adam assured the gang would soon change, as he was currently negotiating a contract with an English backer whom, according to the underworld, was after an Egyptian collection of great wealth. But until they had the job, which was uncertain at best considering how many treasure hunters were after the contract with suave Mr. Alistair, the Riley Gang was working a low-totem job with petty rivals to the Good Guys Gang: The Black Rose gang.

The real sting to the Riley pride was that they weren't even working with the gang leader himself, but rather, with local boss Jerome Jerome, something Michael found hilarious. And now, as he watched the ticket master, he risked a glance to the Good Guy's contact across the room. Michael had known who the contact was for nearly twenty minutes, but like he always did, he kept the information to himself. The rest of his gang had little respect for Michael, but the one thing with which they held him in awe was his vast knowledge of the underworld. But even they had no idea just how vast his knowledge was. Michael was reckless, yes. Michael was volatile, yes. But above all else, Michael was smart. He did his research. And like all his other secrets, Michael kept his research to himself.

So when Michael spotted Agent Storm Cloud lurking in the background watching them, he didn't say anything. While everyone else watched the ticket counter, waiting for the Agent to go pick up the package, Michael watched the crowd, waiting for some poor patsy to be given the package without his knowledge. It was just the sort of move Pink Rock would pull.

Speaking of poor patsies... As Michael watched, a grumpy looking kid with hair oddly reminiscent of a poodle's walked up to the ticket counter and rather loudly and rudely demanded his ticket. The ticket master narrowed his eyes at the kid's attitude, and Michael chuckled on the inside. "_Kid, you just bought yourself a train-load o' problems,_" he thought.

Sure enough, after a short spat with the ever-simpering ticket master, the kid finally got his ticket, along with a complimentary brochure. The kid thanked him for nothing, and then dragged his luggage to the train.

Michael smirked and went back to people watching, as the minutes ticked by to take-off and Hank and Barney became increasingly anxious.

"That's it," Barney finally growled, standing up. "I'm gonna go find out what happened."

Stalking off to the ticket counter, Mike watched as Barney threatened the ticket master, who, scumbag agent he was, squealed under the pressure.  
Barney came hurrying back as Hank stood up, seeing that something was wrong.

"We missed it," Barney said urgently. "The scum managed to slip it past us somehow. We've gotta get on that train and get the package, or this job'll fall through!"

"Up, Nesmith," Hank said again, as the two of them rushed to the train, Barney having procured three tickets during the brief interrogation. Michael sighed and stood up, walking along behind them. As far as he was concerned, the job could fall through and just as well. He had no reason to break a sweat. He could just watch Hank and Barney work their tails off in vain. It would be fun.

* * *

"Alright, here's the plan," Hank said resignedly as the three gang members stood in the back of the dining car. "We have no idea who has the package. But whoever has it will have to make contact with another agent eventually. So we're gonna split, and shadow the place. If you spot an Agent, tail him. He might lead us to the package. Nesmith, don't try and pull anything. You're on a leash here, yes, but it's a short one. Enjoy the little taste of freedom you've got, as soon as we have the package, we're outta here."

Inwardly, Michael scoffed. Hank truly had no idea what Michael was capable of. Still, until Michael had an opportunity, he was stuck. So, nodding once, he turned and set off down the car.

Instead of searching for the fuzzy-headed kid, though, he kept his eyes out for Agents. This line was Good Guys turf, after all, and Michael was a well known member of the Riley Gang. Michael always assumed that every opponent he faced had as much knowledge as he did or more, so he was as cautious as he could be as he walked nonchalantly through the train. If there were any Agents on the train, he would assume that they already knew he was there, and were tailing him. Even though he knew they weren't, as he was watching his six o'clock very carefully.

Three cars later, he saw an empty window seat and sat down, as he had spotted someone very interesting in the seat in front of him. Even though he wasn't looking for the kid with the package, it seemed he had found him.

The kid was having some sort of argument with the man sitting next to him, and Michael listened in with a mild curiosity.

"Look, Dolenz," the guy was saying. "I don't care what you do with the money. As far as I'm concerned, you can shove it up your nose and suffocate yourself."

"Nice, Jimmy," the kid, Dolenz, said. "Just get me the part. I'm sick of the two-bit clubs you got me performing. I've been in this business for four years, and if you were doing your job right, I'd be a household name by now, right along with Jack Benny, Abbot and Costello, Dick Van Dyke... As it stands, I'm barely pre-married Pinky Benson!"

"Look, I'm doing the best I can," Jimmy said. "But reputation's been getting around, Mick. Nobody wants to hire you after that fiasco you pulled in Santa Barbara. I've been telling you for as long as I've known ya, nobody hires a royal pain."

"Oh, shut up, Jim," Dolenz said. "I've got a headache. Just get me the part, or you'll be one more agent without a client to push. Got it?"

"Yeah, yeah, I got it," Jimmy said. "Go jump off the train, why don'tcha."

Dolenz gave a dry chuckle as Jimmy got up. "Sticks and Stones, Jim," he said, leaning back and closing his eyes. Jim took a deep breath before turning and walking away, Michael standing up and following him. If he was reading the guy right, Jimmy would be more than likely to talk, as it was obvious he had nothing but disdain for his client.

He still had to play his cards right, so when he went into the next car and saw Jimmy leaning against a window with one hand over his head, Michael smirked. Walking past, he bumped Jimmy.

"Hey, watch it," Jimmy said, predictably angry.

"Whoa, sorry, pardner," Michael said, acting apologetic. "Wasn't watchin' where I was goin'."

Jimmy sighed. "That's fine," he said. "I'm just having a bad day, is all."

"Well, I can understand that," Michael said. He paused for affect. "Say, haven't I see you somewhere?"

Jimmy looked at him warily. "...I haven't seen you," he said.

Michael frowned, as if trying to remember something. "...I got it!" He said with a clap. "I saw you talkin' to that one guy, the comedian. It was in some club, after the show, you two started talkin' together."

Jimmy huffed. "Don't get me started on Dolenz," he said. "There's not a day goes by I didn't wish I'd never signed him on."

"He that bad?" Michael asked.

"He's a full-out diva," Jimmy said. "I'm the only person who still talks to the kid, and that's just 'cause I have to. I swear, the kid's burned more bridges than anyone I've ever met."

"You don't say," Michael said.

"Oh-ho-ho, yes I do," Jimmy said wearily. "Last month, he ended the show to a standing ovation just to step backstage and get in a fistfight with the owner of the club."

Even Michael had to raise his eyebrows at that. "Why'd he do that?" he asked.

"Who knows!?" Jimmy said. "He says the owner insulted him. Personally, I think he just didn't like the gig itself. He's got talent, I'll give him that, but he thinks he's the end-all of entertainment. He's not satisfied with any job I give him. He's pushing for a movie deal, but the director had a talent scout at a show that went south last year, and he's not willing to pay Dolenz's high price."

"And you're stuck in the middle," Michael guessed.

"You got it," Jimmy nodded. "One one hand, I've got a director who's skeptical, but willing to try him out at minimum price. On the other hand, I've got a pig-headed client demanding a high-paying gig."

Jimmy suddenly seemed to realize exactly what he was doing, and turned to Michael suspiciously. "What's your interest in all this, anyhow?" He asked. "You're not the press, are you?"

"The press!?" Michael asked, feigning shock. "No, I just thought you looked down, needed to blow off some steam is all."

Jimmy raised an eyebrow, but then seemed to buy it. "...Thanks," he said with a sigh. "That's refreshing. I guess I'm lucky you came along before some reporter did get ahold of me. I need some coffee. I'm too stressed out to handle Dolenz right now."

Mike, seeing that Jimmy was done talking, nodded. "Well, good luck with that movie deal," he said. "I'll see ya around."

Moving on, he thought over what he had learned. So the kid who had the package was an uprising comedian with a major attitude. He would have to learn to get that attitude under control once the package was discovered, whether it be by an Agent, Hank or Barney or one of the Black Roses on board, or maybe the government agent in a trench coat and fedora running around without a clue.

The agent in question had just passed Michael without so much as a second glance, and Michael had to chuckle. It was safe to assume that the government agent had no idea he was here.

Facing forward again, Michael let the smile fall. Because if he was right (and after seven years in the business, he was rarely wrong) the kid who had just entered the car from the other side was bad news. Michael always did his research, and there was almost nothing he couldn't find out. While Mr. Best kept his face and thereby, his identity, a secret, the infamous Junior Best, heir to the Good Guys empire, was easier to track down. And the kid who had just entered the car looked a whole lot like Junior.

The easy in-and-out basic information retrieval job was looking less and less like a gig and more and more like a setup. If the second in command was on the train, it was obvious the Good Guys Gang knew more than they were letting on.


	3. Freeze

As the train continued on its path towards Abilene, Michael walked through the cars nonchalantly, keeping his eyes peeled for other agents in the car as he walked. He also watched for any member from his gang, and from the Black Rose gang they were currently affiliated with.

Michael followed his mark from a distance, it wouldn't do to have his target see him, after all. Although, he didn't seem to be in any sort of danger of being spotted; The blonde man didn't seem to notice a single thing as he hurried through the cars, apparently lost in thought and totally tuned out to the world.

His hypothesis was proven as a young girl stormed through into the car, marching straight up the aisle towards the blonde, who didn't see her. When he failed to move out of her way, the girl angrily shoved past him, starling the blonde out of his thoughts. She continued storming up the aisle, and Michael casually moved out of the way as she approached. The blonde had turned to stare after her in mild confusion, obviously still half-spaced. Suddenly a rather short young man with a very boyish face sprinted into the car, also pushing past the blonde, although where the girl had been angry, the boy was wearing a worried expression. "Cyndia!" he called after the girl. "Cyndia, wait!"

Michael stayed by the side, allowing the boy to run past him as well, and watched in mild interest as the couple left the car, before turning his interest back to the blonde.

He did a double take; the blonde was gone. He silently cursed his own stupidity, he had been distracted and had lost his mark. He hurriedly made his way up the aisle into the next car, just in time to see the blonde stepping through into the car beyond it.

Michael sighed, he had to continue on to gather information, but it was dangerous. The car was established Good Guys territory, and Michael knew that the cars closer to the front were usually booked for the gang exclusively. To follow someone he suspected as being involved in the gang straight into gang territory was reckless and stupid.

Then again, Michael never was one to care about that sort of thing, and so with one more careful look around, he continued to the next car.

As the door opened, Michael saw that the car was completely empty, save for the blonde, who was sitting in a seat about halfway up the aisle and staring at the window. Michael paused, the car was empty, so here was his chance to find out if he was right about the blonde, but it also meant giving up any secrecy he had, as well as possibly blowing their retrieval mission.

Taking a deep breath, Michael squared his shoulders and made his decision. He stepped into the empty train car

Suddenly he was struck by immense pain in his head. Everything fell away in unimportance as he squeezed his eyes shut, letting out a small gasp of pain and falling to one knee. He had never had such a terrible headache in his life, it was as if he had two brains shoved into his head at once, and the pressure was too much, it was burning him, burning him...

The headache left as soon as it had come, and Mike slowly opened his eyes, taking in the train around him. The car was still empty, but the blonde had stood up and was now looking at Mike in concern.

"Are- Are you alright?" He asked anxiously.

Mike narrowed his eyes. What had just happened!?

"I'm fine," he said. "Just got a headache when I stepped through the door. That was weird. But I'm fine now that I moved."

Mike looked back at the door suspiciously, thinking on what he had just said. Was it really only that spot? He decided to test his theory and moved back into the exact spot he had been when he got the headache.

It returned full force, his head felt like it was splitting in two. Everything fell away into unimportance, and he gritted his teeth. He refused to move, though, trying to figure out what was happening.

_"Freeze!' He felt, rather than heard, someone say. "Frozen!" He felt himself saying. Beside him, someone began saying voiceless murmurings, speaking,yet Mike couldn't hear the speaker. It was as if the voice was just...gone._

The pain became unbearable, and Mike couldn't help but move, stepping forward. The pain instantly diminished, but he could still feel a bit of pressure in his forehead, and he felt, for the first time in many years, shaken up. He clutched at his head. "There it is again," he said. "Right here, right in this spot, I feel... I feel like everything's... wrong!"

"Right here?" The blonde asked worriedly, moving to stand right next to Mike. He looked around. "...I don't feel anything," He said. "Hey, are you sure you're alright? You look... sick."

Mike glanced up at the blonde warily, and chided himself. Here he was, showing weakness in front of a total stranger. No, even worse, he was showing weakness in front of the heir of one of the biggest gangs in North America, regardless of how genial said heir might appear.

"I'm just fine here, Junior," he said, not missing the brief flicker of recognition crossing the other man's face at the mention of the name. Yep, this was definitely the right guy. "Just got a bit of a headache is all. Now, if we can get down to it, I'd kind of like to get this over with."

The man paused. "What do you mean?" He asked.

Michael let out a small scoff. "Boy, you sure aren't very bright for a gang boss," he said. "You're Junior Best. It's obvious. And you should have guessed by now that I'm Mike Nesmith of the Riley gang, which is currently in a partnership with Jumping Jack Jerry of the Black Rose gang. Everyone knows that the Good Guys Gang hates the Black Rose gang. So let's get on with it. You gonna shoot me, you gonna try to knock me out, what's the plan? I'm warning you, I can take anything you throw at me."

To Michael's bewilderment, however, Junior simply looked confused. "You're a member of the Riley gang?" He asked.

Michael nodded. "Yeah," he said. "I just said as much. So let's get on with it!"

Junior opened his mouth, than closed it. He backed up and looked around them at the compartment, which was surprisingly still empty. "I- I can't," he said.

Michael blinked. "...What?" He finally asked.

Junior looked lost. "I can't do any of that stuff you said," He said. "I just... can't. I hate it when people get hurt. I can't shoot you, Nesmith. I can't even pretend to shoot you! But if Agent Rhinestone finds out that I met you and let you get away... Please, just leave, right now! Turn around and go away, before we're seen together!"

Michael was baffled. "What are you saying!?" He demanded. "You're supposed to be Mr. Best's son!?" He narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "What's your angle, then?" He asked. "What are you trying to pull? Playin' all buddy-buddy, feeding me some story about wanting me to leave, so you can shoot me when my back's turned? Nice try!"

"No, really," Junior said, taking a step towards Michael. "Get out of here, before-"

Michael pulled out his gun and trained it on Junior, taking a step back as he did so. Junior went pale at the sight of the gun, and froze.

"That's right," Michael said, feeling a smile come on his face. Not a smile at what he was pretending to do, no. He was smiling with all the insanity of it all. Here he was, holding an empty gun up to Junior Best in a train crawling with Good Guys. If that wasn't suicide, he didn't know what was. "Now that I've got your attention," Michael said. "Spill it. Where's the information on the Black Rose gang going?"

Junior swallowed. "I- I don't kn-know," he stammered.

"Nice try," Michael said, cocking the gun.

"N-no, really!" Junior said, eyes wide. "I d-don't know! Agent Rhinestone won't tell me where it's going! All I know is that Agent Pink Rock duped some poor sap into carrying it with him! I swear, I was looking for the guy when I saw you! I d-don't have it with me, and I don't know where it's going!"

Michael looked into Junior's eyes, and decided that the gang member was telling the truth. He put down his gun. "You know," he said. "You're a really bad gang boss. For one thing, you're way too open with your emotions. It was too easy for me to see whether or not you were lying. You ever play poker?"

Junior took a deep breath, then shook his head. "I don't like gambling," he said.

Michael looked at him incredulously. "You get scared easily, you sell out your own agents, you're obviously not very bright, and now I find out you don't like to gamble!?"

Junior looked down at the floor. "I don't like to gamble because..." he started. "Because you have to lie too much."

"And let me guess, you're a horrible liar?" Michael asked.

Junior shook his head, then nodded, frowning. "Well, I am," he said. "I am a horrible liar. But that's not why."

Michael stared. "Then... why?" He prompted.

"Because!" Junior said miserably. "I have to lie enough as it is, I don't want to lie any more than I have to!"

"Well, this is new," Michael said, not sure what to make of Junior. "A gang boss with a conscience. You don't belong in this business, Shotgun."

Pain. Mike gasped and clutched at his head again, the headache had flared up with a vengeance. What had just happened? It had disappeared, it had gone, and then...

"Are you alright?" He heard Junior saying. He opened his eyes, he had sunk to one knee again. Junior was looking down at him worriedly, but he didn't dare take a step closer to Mike.

Mike nodded. "Let's get out of this car," he said. "I don't know what it is about this car, but it's making my head go all... Wibbly wobbly..."

Junior frowned in confusion, but took a cautious step forward.

"I ain't gonna shoot you, man," Mike snapped, standing up. "Just hurry up and open the door. I'm afraid to touch anything in this dang car, for fear it's gonna burn my hand or somethin'!"

Junior hurried past Mike and opened the door. "Are you sure you're alright?" He asked. "Do you want me to get you a glass of water or something? It's not that far to the dining car..."

Junior trailed off, and Mike looked up to see a menacing looking man wearing all black, glaring down at him.

"Nesmith?" The man asked, tilting his head.

Michael stood up a little straighter. Now that he was out of that cursed car, the pain in his head was leaving, and he could tell that whoever this guy was, he was bad news.

"N-no, sir," Junior said quietly from beside him. Michael took a side-long glance at the blonde, who was trembling slightly. "This is, uh, George. George Walters."

"Junior," the man in the black suit said quietly. "You're a terrible liar."

"S-sorry, sir," Junior said miserably.

The man pulled a gun out of his pocket and trained it on Michael. "Come along, Nesmith," he said. "You're coming with me. You too, Junior. You need to learn what happens to those who aid our enemies."

Michael sighed. "No thanks," he said, glaring up at the man. "I think I'll stay here. Maybe take Junior here up on his offer to get me some water. Run along, Junior, fetch me that glass."

Junior deflated even more, if that were possible, and the man in the black suit smirked. "Ha," he said. "Real funny. But you're real unlucky, Nesmith. I happen to hate comedians at the moment."

With that, the man raised a hand and back-handed Michael across the face. Junior gasped and flinched in sympathy, and Michael slowly reached his hand up and rubbed the side of his face, glaring at the man in the black suit as he did so.

"Now, you just made an enemy outta Mike Nesmith," he said. "Real stupid of you, really."

"Oh, I'm sure," the man said. "Now, Junior, we're going to the baggage car. You lead the way, and I'll handle Nesmith. And Junior?"

Junior looked up at the man nervously. "Y-yes sir?" He asked.

The man glared. "Try to look normal," he said. "We don't want a repeat of what happened last time, do we?"

Junior looked down at the floor. "No, sir..." He said.

When they reached the baggage compartment, the man reached into a suitcase and pulled out a length of rope, which he tossed to Junior. Junior fumbled to catch it, and the man turned to Michael. "Sit down next to that beam," he said.

Michael chuckled. "You're tying me to a support beam?" He asked. "Really original, babe. Good job."

"Shut it," The man said, but he didn't sound angry, more unconcerned. "Alright, Junior," the man said. "Tie him up, nice and tight, like I showed you. Don't screw this up, or I'll have to show you again."

Junior nodded hastily and moved to stand behind Michael. He didn't say a word as he tied Michael's hands firmly behind the support beam, and he succeeded in tying them nice and tight. Not that it mattered. Michael had learned long ago how to get out of any and every knot. He started working on this one as soon as Junior had moved out from behind the beam.

"So then, Nesmith," the man said. "You obviously know Junior, you used his name, after all. But you probably don't know me. Allow me to introduce myself."

"You're Agent Rhinestone," Michael interrupted absently. "Wanted for assault, robbery, more assault, armed robbery, and the death of three policemen. Your real name is unknown, but your surname supposedly begins with the letter "G," You also are the only member of the Good Guys Gang to commit an actual murder."

That was enough to rattle the cages of the man, who blinked in utter shock before carefully composing his expression and chuckling.

"You're a smart man, Nesmith," he said. "A bit too smart, I'd say. There are some very important gang secrets you just said there. Tell me, how long have you known that we don't shoot to kill?"

"How long have you been in business?" Michael asked as a response. "You said it yourself; I'm a very smart man. Not much gets past me, not after seven years in this business."

"I see," Agent Rhinestone said. "And why haven't you volunteered this information to the rest of your gang?"

"Leverage," Michael responded without missing a beat. "I know a great many secrets, G. More than you could believe. Tell me, G, were you in a gang before this one? If not, you're a rookie to me."

Agent Rhinestone glared. "I'd heard you were a fool, Nesmith," he said. "But I admit, I didn't expect you to be this foolish. You are correct in saying that I'm the only member of the Good Guys gang to actually commit a murder. Mr. Best forgave me, once I explained that it had been an accident."

"But it was no accident, was it, G?" Michael said smugly. "You lied to your boss, you meant for that man to die."

Agent Rhinestone said nothing, he just seethed, while Junior looked shocked. "You... you did it on purpose!?" He asked, his eyes wide. "You killed someone!?"

Michael scoffed. "You forget that you work in a gang, Junior," he said. "It might be a gang with reservations, but it's a gang nonetheless. Are you really so surprised that G here killed a man, intentionally?"

Junior frowned in thought, obviously deciding he believed it. Agent Rhinestone growled and turned to the blonde.

"Don't you go and get any ideas about squealing to your old man," he said, advancing toward Junior, who instinctively took a step back. "I barely got out of it when you squealed on me the last time, I'm not going to be too happy if you pull a stunt like that again!"

Michael saw this as his chance and finished wriggling his hands out of the bonds, and he pulled his empty gun out of his holster, training it on Agent Rhinestone.

"Hey G," he said. "You're not the only one who's ever killed a man."

Agent Rhinestone turned and saw Michael out of his bonds, and he gave a roar of outrage. "You worthless piece of trash," he yelled, and it took Michael a moment to realize he was talking to Junior, who looked a mixture of bewildered, shocked, and afraid. "You screwed it up again!" Agent Rhinestone continued. "How many times do I have to teach you the same lessons!?"

"I'm sorry," Junior said, still staring at Michael as if he were some kind of ghost. "I- I thought I'd done it right this time-"

"Oh, you thought," Agent Rhinestone spat angrily, voice filled with cold sarcasm. "That's your whole problem, Boy, you go around thinking for yourself instead of letting the people with a brain handle things."

"I'm a little sick of having you ignore me, G," Michael said, cocking his gun.

Agent Rhinestone glanced at him. "You don't scare me, Nesmith," he said. "You're not the only one who did their homework. You're as adverse to killing as Junior here is. Seven years or no, you're only in this business because your so-called friend is twisting your arm. So put down your silly toy and surrender before someone gets hurt."

Michael smiled at him, one of his famous half-smiles. "You forget, G, that while I might be adverse to killing, I hold a mean grudge," he said. "You made an enemy outta me. I plan to take out all my enemies, one at a time."

"You still don't have the means, Nesmith," Agent Rhinestone gloated.

"Really?" Michael said. "You wanna bet?"

Reaching down with one hand, Michael pulled his secret gun out of it's concealed holster, and with expert aim, shot the light fixture above Agent Rhinestone's head. Agent Rhinestone and Junior both flinched as the light shattered, glass flying everywhere. They both raised their arms to cover their faces, and Michael used that moment to tackle Agent Rhinestone to the floor, then he used his bigger empty gun to knock the man out.

He stood up quickly, about to do the same to Junior. He couldn't have either of them following him, of course, but right as he was about to move towards Junior, the blonde looked up, lowering his arms, and in that split second, Michael saw how truly shocked and scared Junior really was. Junior froze, mouth slightly open, realizing what Michael had done to Agent Rhinestone and what he was about to do to Junior.

Michael hesitated. "Do yourself a favor, kid," he said, his voice raspy for some reason. "Find a new crowd. You don't belong here."

Having said that, Mike turned quickly and left the car, not entirely sure why he felt the way he did.


End file.
